


I Respect None of You

by Crowbar Cooperative (ArchaicNightfall)



Category: Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom
Genre: BUT THERES TWO NONBINARY CHARACTERS, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Nonbinary Character, Texting, Tragic Comedy, an alternate universe of two alternate universes smashed together, evil and FUCKED UP moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchaicNightfall/pseuds/Crowbar%20Cooperative
Summary: In which two feral people with the same energies rip Black Mesa, and Benrey, a new one as they attempt to escape the Resonance Cascade that Gordon has unwittingly started.(If you like Arc from Find Me in the Forest, and Rory from Post Party Trauma Club, this is the fic for you.)[Marked as complete, but won't be finished]
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	1. The World's on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe you should've ditched work for babysitting Joshua.

> **I Respect None of You**
> 
> **The World’s on Fire**

* * *

**Archway** _2:43 AM_  
Sorry, Dr. Freeman, I can’t babysit Joshie today.  
Apparently Black Mesa says that “No, you can’t take the day off to watch over a family friend” as a valid excuse anymore.   
They need me for something important, so f a n t a s t i c n e w s-!  
I hope their future steaks will always be made wrong and they have to pay full price for the fuck up at restaurants.

**Dr. Freeman** _4:18 AM  
_Thanks for letting me know  
Even if you told me at 2 am  
Why are you even up that early are you okay  
I’ll see if someone else I know can swap in for you  
  


* * *

**rory (thats me)** _10:55 AM  
_no  
im not watching joshie

**PAPYRUS KINNIE [DON’T ANSWER]** _10:58 AM  
_Well   
That’s cool  
They call you in today too or something?? Or are you just being lazy

**rory (thats me)** _11:02 AM  
_yes  
to both

**PAPYRUS KINNIE [DON’T ANSWER]** _11:03 AM  
_Great. Thanks!!!! Guess ill fucking die then

**rory (thats me)** _11:05 AM  
_yeah i guess you fuckin will huh

* * *

Arc stared blankly out of their left passenger side mirror, looking almost as if they want to sleep as they sit in their Honda Civic. They rub at their eyes with the heel of their hands, exhaling slowly. “Fuck.”

They climb out of their car, snagging the insulated paper cup full of ungodly sweet and sugar-packed hot chocolate. From there, they quickly lock everything up and begin the trek to the tramway. It’s another day in Black Mesa, the sun is bright as hell, there are clouds in the sky, and Arc’s very salty that they don’t get to spend time with the literal embodiment of sunshine. 

When they stand at the tram station, they do their best to nurse the still warm cocoa in an attempt to be as discrete as possible. It doesn’t exactly work, and Arc sighs a little under their breath as they catch in the corner of their eye one of the usual security guards making his way towards them. 

“Afternoon, Dr. Fall.” Arc makes a noncommittal noise, hazel eyes briefly skimming over the guard’s nametag. Last name Richard, huh? That’s a little unfortunate. “‘Fraid that I can’t let you onto the tram until you get rid of your contraband.”

Arc says nothing, merely turning their full, undivided attention to the security guard. Their eyes meet, and Arc puts the cup to their lips and drinks the whole thing without blinking. The guard blinks a little, evidently not expecting that to happen. He must be new here.

“What contraband?” Without looking, Arc tosses the cup over their shoulder resisting the urge to grin as they hear it _clunk_ into the trash can. “I see no smuggled drinks.”

Richard makes a noise caught between a cough and a snort of amusement. “Alrighty then, you’re all set to go. Good luck today!”

“Yeah, you too! Don’t die!” Arc replies cheerily, as Richard goes to type in the code to open the tram’s sliding door. They briefly glance to the side, even with the partial covering they can still tell what the code is. 3-7-9-1.  
  
With a little hum, Arc heads on in, taking a seat and resting their bag on their lap, ignoring how the intercom chimes it’s usual spiel. Yes, they know it’s 12:10 pm, yes, they’re aware that they’re going on the blue line to the Biomedical and Cybernetics Labs. It’s not like they’ve gone this same route for the past 2 years. Honestly, they oughta remember who shows up to work, would probably save them 10 cents on energy not to have the lady do her usual spiel. 

As they wait for the ride to go through a frankly ridiculously long route, Arc pulls out a sketchbook from the depth of their bag, uncapping their ballpoint pen and begin doodling. As usual, they go for their usual warm-up of unusually round and chonky pigeons. Arc smiles a little in contentment, humming a little as they draw the world’s fattest flying city rat. The next thing they know, the tram makes a dinging noise, signifying their arrival. 

They quickly shove everything back into their correct spot and waits patiently for the other guard to open up the door to the tram. It’s the usual person, and Arc, for once, recognizes the woman as she approaches. “Hey, Chloe, nice to see you. Heading home soon?”

“Sup Fall, you’re early again.” Chloe greets, the blond sending Arc a friendly smile. “Yeah, in like, five minutes. Gotta clock out but I’ll be home free. Good luck with the HEVs today.”

“That’s awesome, man, I wish that I could go home. I won’t need luck though.” Arc grins, bouncing a little on their heels. “Just gotta do some course runs today, and then we’ll be in the home stretch."

“Hella.” With a nod, the door the tram slides open, and the blonde allows Arc to quickly sidestep her. They walk together in step as they approach those weird bay doors that are usually set up in the lower level labs. Chloe makes a few beeping sounds as she presses the keys. “Alright, you’re all set. You go, you go and kick some ass, you funky science bean.” 

The door makes an ungodly noise as it’s hydraulic hiss, metal screeching as the doors slowly open up. Arc rolls their eyes at how dramatic this all is. It takes even less time for Arc to reach the locker room, though they do take a moment to hang up their jacket and replace it with their usual lab coat. 

Checking through their bag, they make sure to grab their passport. They still don’t understand the whole ‘needing extra identification’ regulation that got added like, a few days ago. Maybe Dr. Breen finally lost his marbles, the dickwad. People rarely even travel if they work at Black Mesa, what’s the point of carrying one around?  
  
As they exit the locker room, Arc makes a weird yelping sound they collide with someone short. “ _Guh_ \- Hey Rory! Good luck today on the MK 12 resistance capacitors on those new Powerlegs™- Anyway, gotta go!”  
  
With that, Arc skitters off to their work station as fast as they can in an attempt to hide their shame at nearly knocking someone to the floor like a bowling pin. Oh god, they hope that their ears aren’t red because their face is on _fire._

* * *

There is, maybe, no place on Earth that Rory hated working at more than Black Mesa’s Cybernetics Department. The whole place had just been scooped up and relocated next to Biomed, and – even if Rory actually _liked_ bio-medics, worked a lot with it – the people here were even more disrespectful towards them.

Everyone in Black Mesa was so fucking disrespectful.

This was, usually, the only thing they really thought about as they went through the motions of getting out of bed and getting ready for work. Man, _fuck_ work.

Fuck this stupid bus stop, fuck not knowing how to drive, fuck the hour and a half they sit waiting to go to work at the most pretentious bullshit facility in the country. Should have opted for Aperture. At least they’d probably have decent transportation options.

The entrance was the same. Waiting for the tram was the same. The cup of green tea they carried with them was the same. They were late, which was the _same_. It was déjà vu on déjà vu on déjà vu. They both thanked and cursed their brother for putting in such a good word for them here. Mostly cursed, these days.

They could almost certainly feel when the security guard laid eyes on them. Could _absolutely_ feel him walk up behind them. Rory had not been careful with their drink. Hadn’t remembered to keep it hidden. Christ, would it kill these people to lighten the fuck up? To just… let them have a cup of tea? What harm was a cup of tea going to do?

Rory doesn’t turn around when he speaks. Doesn’t care which of the ought-to-be-nameless guards it is. Just wants to get through their day.

“We have this conversation every time you come through here.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They turn towards him only as far as necessary, hand the cup off to him a lot harsher than they need to, silently willing it to spill over onto him. It doesn’t.

He punches in the number to open up the tram. Rory stopped memorizing the daily codes months ago. Rory doesn’t _care_. If they die in one of these things, so be it. At least then Gordon can sue them on their behalf. Get enough money to finally get out of here. Live comfortably for the rest of his life, make sure Joshua is taken care of. Their whole family.

Sad little thoughts like that are all that’s on their mind as they take a seat in the tram. How little they and their brother truly made working here was, no doubt, tied to some bullshit internal pay discrepancy. Because what the fuck else could it possibly be, at this point? Gordon was one of the most qualified people they’d ever seen – he was, like, top of his class at MIT. Or, close enough to it. For him to finally compare pay to Rory and see that they were so… similar, that hurt. When was there going to be some kind of union?

Unionizing. There’s a thought.

The _ding_ of the tram finally reaching its destination was both welcome and unwelcome. Took them out of their socialist daydream, back into the real world. They had work.

Some young guard they’d never seen before lets them out, doesn’t waste time on small talk, just a nod and a step to the side. People don’t like talking to Rory. Rory doesn’t really mind it. 

Rory doesn’t mind it. Rory doesn’t think about any of the people here. Rory thinks about finishing work, going to get drunk at Gordon’s apartment while he isn’t there, and passing out on his couch. Rory thinks about calling their parents and telling them they were right. Rory focuses on getting to the locker room as soon as possible.

Rory did not see Dr. Fall exit said locker room until it was _far_ too late to slow down. The impact would have knocked Rory on their ass if they weren’t too surprised to follow the laws of physics, apparently.

Dr. Fall visibly scrambles to find something to say. It’s endearing if a bit annoying. Like Rory has room to talk, though. “Guh - Hey Rory! Good luck today on the MK 12 resistance capacitors on those new Powerlegs™ - Anyway, gotta go!”

The huh on the what? Powerlegs™. Yeah, okay. Shit. That was what they were working on. Right. Gotta… get to work on that. Go serve, like, _The Man_ , or whatever.

* * *

“Hello, Dr. Fall! Right on time, just as usual. Great job!” Dr. Howard Coomer greets, a cheerful smile on his face as the youngest of their crew rounds the corner to the room where all of the newest HEV suits are lined up and surrounded by the glass containment units. “This means that we can get started, as we all know, today’s the day in which we test the newest model of the HEV project, the medical support.”  
  
Arc pauses taking a note that there are a few scientists that they don’t recognize. Right, this was technically also a showcase. Like everything, Black Mesa had to make sure that even if projects were near completion, they need to be constantly retested. Which means they get to talk. Wonderful.  
  
“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Arc Fall, and I’ll be your informer for today.” Arc begins, standing up straight and squaring their shoulders as they directly address the observation team. “The M.S. HEV, standing for Medical Support in Hazardous Environmental Conditions is the newest in Black Mesa’s HEV line. Unlike our classic HEV suit, which is meant primarily for the containment and processing of hazardous materials, as well as the forays into the Xen border world. The M.S. is designed to take more of a, you guessed it, support role similar to that of a combat medic. In this case, however, you have a medic with a built-in hospitalization suite.” 

There’s a few nods of assent, and Arc waits only a moment to allow them to absorb the information before continuing. “The M.S. Mark I is much different in appearance and form, as you can see when compared to its sister, The HEV Mark IV in the chamber to your left. Dr. Howard, if you will?”  
  
“Right away, Dr. Fall!” Dr. Howard takes that as his cue, walking over to the central station and typing into the keys. There’s a positive chiming sound, and Dr. Howard smiles as he hits two buttons.  
  
With a low hiss of re-compressing air, the two HEV suits are revealed in a dramatic display. The glass sliding away, weird vapor escaping the tube, and Arc discretely rolls their eyes as the assembled peanut gallery makes a few noises of either surprise or interest. “The M.S. is built for speed and increased dexterity which is important. Considering that in the event of a disaster, you want your first responders to be agile on their feet, yet unburdened by the suit so they can reach possible patients.

“The HEV mark IV is much bulkier in comparison to the M.S. This is all intentional, of course. This is done to protect its wearer from blunt force trauma and mitigates damage due to the design of its reinforced exterior. However, this extra weight and sheer mass of the suit sacrifice agility for protection.”  
  
As Arc says this, they watch as the curious group of scientists approaches the chambers, though they keep a respectable distance away from the suits. Arc feels like preening a little, like a proud birdy, at the looks the Mark I is getting. “Some of the main differences that you’ll notice right away are the boots. The Mark I is equipped with kinetic boots, meaning that it absorbs potential energy from impacts and falls, converting it into speed. This allows the wearer to reach sprint speeds even at a walking pace from stored power.

“The gloves are equipped with a network of various sensors interwoven into the fabric. This allows the wearer to check another’s vital signs. There’s also a set of pads that act similar to a defibrillation unit, and can be used to resuscitate a patient. There are also compartments, as seen by those grey panels with the three horizontal bars on the outer thigh, where supplies can be stored. They’re lined with insulators, meaning that certain materials can be stored safely.”  
  
Emphasizing this, Arc walks over to the suit’s side. Three of their fingers press against the horizontal bars, and the side compartment pops open. “Now, the other difference is that M.S. has a set of containers on it’s back.” 

Dr. Howard, taking another cue as Arc nods at him, hits another button. The chamber makes a low electrical hum, the suit visibly rotating and revealing the containers on the back.

“These containers are the most important part of M.S’s system. The central tank is used to primarily store various healing chemicals and other materials such as Insulin, Blood Plasma, Adrenalin, and Glucagon. There’s also a set of enzymes that are able to replicate and replenish the supplies if mixed in with right material, such as the solutions in Black Mesa’s medical stations.”  
  
“What about the tubes on the side of the central tank, Dr. Fall?” A woman asks as she scribbles something down on a clipboard.  
  
“Those are the input and output connectors. Basically, to extract the materials from a med station, you take the input and link it up to the med station’s output faucet. This can be stored in the input’s containment tube, or immediately transferred to the central tank. The output, the one in green acts the same except it’s made to channel the required chemical to either a med-kit or another HEV unit.” Arc explains, briefly tapping the output with an index finger.  
  
“Much like the Mark IV, the M.S. is equipped with an energy shield, however, the M.S. is manifested in a manner similar to a honeycomb, with interconnecting sections, making it slightly more resistant to compensate for the lack of armor. This completes this section of our review.”

There’s a polite round of applause. Arc takes a moment to stop by the control panel, reaching for one of those small bottles of water that Howard always seems to have on hand. They down it in a few second, glancing at the recycle and making sure no one's looking, does an epic slam dunk into the waste bin.

Arc takes a final look over their work. It’s rare that they get to admire the potential product of their own making. Howard claps them on the shoulder, a wide smile and a cheery “Excellent speech, Dr. Fall! You have a way with words, why- I don’t think I’ve seen the observation team look so interested.”  
  
“Thanks, Howard, I guess people like what I have to say” Arc smiles, face flushing a little as the praise. “So, who’s gonna be giving them the demonstration?”  
  
“It looks like it’ll be you.” Howard sighs a little, and Arc immediately gets a vague sense of doom, their body stiffening, and all happy feelings swirling down the drain. Howard’s voice is almost a whisper. “The M.S. The AI, she won’t take anyone else. It has to be you.”

Arc falters for a moment, taking a look at the assembled crowd and swallows nervously. Oh boy, Arc can talk but- performing is hard. But it’s true. Most assumed that an HEV suit’s assistance program was non-sentient. But that was just something people overlooked. The HEVs were _chatty_ in a sense. 

So when the Observation team announces that they’d like to see the M.S. in action, Arc steps forwards with a smile full of false confidence. Stepping into the chamber and allowing the suit to get put onto their form piece by piece.

Luckily, they don’t have to do the demonstration.

There’s a distant rumble, and a burst of green energy, depositing something that makes a hellish noise. Arc, stuck in the containment unit until the mechanics finish the suiting up process, can only watch in horror as the world goes to hell.

* * *

Rory is greeted with a smiling Dr. Arnold Coomer the moment they open the door to the lobby of the Cybernetics Lab. He’s… the same as always. Same as all the other Dr. Coomers, something Rory learned to never question. Some Black Mesa nonsense. They had their theories.

“Late as usual, eh, Mx. Freeman?”

They push past him, having to stop themselves from shoulder checking him. Knowing he’s going to try to tail them to wherever they were required today. Like he doesn’t have his _own_ work to do in this fucked up Capitalist nightmare society. “It’s Rory.”

He smiles wider, somehow. They can’t even see it, but they can hear it in his voice. “Mx. Rory Freeman!”

“Just,” Rory grits their teeth, trying to keep their voice from raising. They don’t want another email from their superiors about yelling at coworkers. “Just… Rory.”

“Just Rory!”

It was the _same_ conversation they had _every_ day. He would forget tomorrow, and they’d do the song and dance of name correction again. Rory was _sick_ of it. Everyone here had something deeply wrong with them.

They exhaled hard through their nose as they prepared to enter their assigned lab. They… were late. Again. And, no doubt, their coworkers wouldn’t be happy, even though it had only been about fifteen minutes. No green tea to calm them down.

Inside the room, their coworkers – all _ten_ of them – were huddled around a small computer screen in the corner. Rory couldn’t tell what was on it, but they silently thanked it as it let them slip in unnoticed behind them. They had just enough time to put their papers down and scatter a few of them around their desk, to, uh… make it seem like they _had_ been working before one of them turns around.

It was Dr. Jackson, a guy much younger than Rory, who spots them. Younger and smarter, who deserved to be here so much more than a person like _Rory_ did. He waves at them from his spot in the huddle, practically bouncing with excitement. “Hey, Rory, when did you get in here?”

“Uh… like, fifteen minutes ago?” Rory lies. You know, like a _liar_.

“Oh – shit, congratulations on being on time!”

“Yeah. What’s up with the watch party?”

“Your brother is in the test chamber in Anomalous Materials, this is… this test is big, Rory. Didn’t he tell you?”

“I mean… yeah, but I don’t really care about anything he does? Like, on principle.”

“Uh. Okay, just – you should come see. We asked Dr. Bubby to set up the livestream, and he actually said _yes_! This is going to be so fucking cool – oh! Oh, they’re – come over here, come watch!”

The shitty, low-end speakers crackled with audio from the Anomalous Materials test chamber. Someone, some scientist Rory would never speak to, was telling someone to be careful with the subject of the test – like… slower than _molasses_ drips off a _spoon_? There were people yelling, and Rory’s coworkers were giggling at what was being said. They couldn’t hear the rest of it.

To be honest, they _did_ want to watch. It was important to Gordon. But they’d have to… stand so close to people they don’t get along with in order to do it, so that’s a no-go.

“No thanks. Got stuff to do.”

Dr. Jackson’s face falls, slightly, but he just shrugs and looks back to the screen regardless. Not really caring, in the end, whether Rory was included or not. Go off, dude. Rory didn’t care either. “Suit yourself! You can watch it later, maybe.”

Rory hums in response, trying their hardest to reach the outlet under their table with their phone charger. The one they _weren’t_ supposed to have.

Over the speakers, louder than the molasses guy, comes an older scientist’s voice, _“ – I’m going to fucking explode!”_ Well, wouldn’t that be something? Rory laughs quietly from under the desk, checking their phone just out of sight of the cameras. Gordon was mad at them for not watching Josh still. Blaming them if he’s late. Ah, well. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A frantic shouting over the speakers, again, and horrified gasps from their coworkers almost coaxes them out to have a look. But then the power blinks out, and, and – the _ground_ shakes, and the _ceiling_ falls in, and Rory, for a moment, genuinely thanks Black Mesa for investing in reinforced steel desks.


	2. Endless Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this cascade has sure been resonanced.
> 
> There's a little bit of vomiting in this chapter, but it's not written in detail.

> **I Respect None of You**
> 
> **Endless Screaming**

* * *

Arc almost feels like they’re beyond white-faced in horror once the machine finally finishes the job by covering Arc’s head with the helmet. They weren’t quite sure what had happened, or what the hell that strange creature was but- nausea creeps up their esophagus as the sheer amount of _red_ puddled in the room.

 _“_ _Welcome to the M.S. - H.E.V. Mark III, for use in hazardous environmental conditions._ _”_ Ev, the suit’s AI chimes from the speakers on the inside of Arc’s helmet.  _“_ _Hello, Dr. Fall, will- I detect that your heart rate has exceeded 140 BPM and your stress levels are elevated._ _”_

Arc breathes in shaking their head, almost as if they were trying to rattle the sound of the screaming out of their mind. “Situation’s not good, Ev. Something bad’s happened- I need- I need you to swap into emergency mode.”

_"_ _Understood. Initiating-_ _”_ With that Arc watches as their HUD switches from clear to lighting up with varying symbols. Arc works on their breathing, they cannot afford a panic attack now. Not with the screaming still happening in the distance.

Arc may be in Biomedical, but they’re not a licensed paramedic. But still, they took a few classes, it’ll have to do- this is one small part of their job, even if the suit is a prototype, it was the real deal. They take a deep breath, as when they catch movement in the forefront of their vision, that strange creature that shot fucking _lightning_ from its hands begin to charge up its attack. Arc grits their teeth and the flats of their boots light up green -

\- just in time. Arc uses the stored energy from a previous test, kicking the glass and the force from the enhanced kick sends glass exploding outwards. The creature makes a strangled, gurgled cry as dangerous shards pierce straight into its flesh. Bright yellow-green blood splattering and mixing with the red. 

Arc moves forwards, snatching up a good 6-inch shard of glass and drives it through the thing’s main eye. Their hands are shaking when they stand back up again, doing their best to ignore the sprawled bodies, and are glad that it’s hard to smell in the suit. Electricity can cook if it gets hot enough, after all. Breathing shakily, they’re relieved to see that Howard’s not among the dead.  
  
They can only go forward. A weapon, they need a weapon, and maybe they can help out the other survivors. 

* * *

There is, maybe, no place on Earth that Rory hated working at more than Black Mesa’s Cybernetics Department – and, now, that was more than hyperbole. It was so much more than truth; it was written across the walls of Rory’s mind like some kind of stupid graffiti. They couldn’t process how big the hatred was.

They sit there shaking until the dust settles, as the alarm clicks on and off, eerie and distant. The light flickers in the room before the bulbs decide to work again, bright white, same as always, as though everything was going to be okay.

There’s blood on the floor, a thin puddle slowly spreading towards their hiding spot. Spreading from somewhere they couldn’t see, the direction of where their coworkers were standing. And they know. They know, because nothing moves, beyond the settling of the building around them. They know because there is no crying beyond what they assume is coming from them. No yelling for help. Cybernetics Lab 03 is silent.

They’re dead, and Rory is in the room with them.

It was, had it happened in a movie, something Rory would laugh at. Would have joked about while Gordon freaks out on the couch beside them, like they were kids. But this… was so, so real. So sudden. So much blood, it’s closer than it was a few seconds ago, it’s going to get on their _shoes_.

Rory scrambles out from under the desk when they think the rest of the ceiling won’t collapse on them, and does not look into the corner. Does not look at where the blood is coming from. Does not turn back when they hear a soft, wet cough.

They’re practically blinded by their tears as they stumble their way to the bathroom, the tiny gender-neutral one Black Mesa stuck in the corner. Rory doesn’t know why they bother, beyond the fact that this one is maybe a foot closer. People are _dead_ , and Rory is still following muscle memory.

Rory pushes hard against the door with their shoulder - too hard, maybe, considering that it wasn’t exactly locked. There’s a single guard inside. In the corner, on the ground, next to the trash can, with their back to the door. They aren’t - Rory can’t see any movement, and there’s… something, something weird on their head. Something Rory doesn’t want to think about.

There’s this heavy ball of dread in their chest, making it hard to breathe as they creep towards the… guy? The someone. This person, who used to be a person, maybe - maybe still is. Maybe they’re alive. Just sleeping. They’d just, uh, try and wake them up. They’re fine.

As Rory turns them over with their foot to see their face, the guard moves to grab their leg, knocking them onto the tiled floor - and, in desperation, Rory grabs their gun - a Glock 17, probably. Rory knows how to use a gun. Rory has used a gun before.

They fire two shots into the guard’s head and immediately throw up on the floor. 

Rory has, admittedly, never used a gun on a living creature. Much less a living person.

* * *

Their suit, much like HEV Mark IV, has the same hammerspace storage. Which is fantastic, because that means that they can store a lot of things. Like a dragon. Except a dragon that hoards weapons. A weapon hoarding dragon. 

Someone had been doing maintenance, which was nice because Arc now had a crowbar. They have, in fact, already used that crowbar. The yellow paint on it is flaking a little, peeling off in strips but that just gives it character. The weight of it feels nice in their hands, and Arc carefully peeks around a corner, they still haven’t gotten out of the labs yet. They haven’t found Howard’s body yet. They hope that he’s okay and-  
  
Arc takes in the umpteenth shaky breath of the day, humming a strangled sounding tune in an attempt to calm themself. A rotisserie, aka a weird little alien thing that looks eerily like a chicken, except with teeth that apparently mount people’s heads and turns them to zombies, makes a hissing sound. It’s forelegs bracing against the floor, Arc simply winds up, and when it launches at them, the crowbar makes a very satisfying wet crunch as it makes contact.  
  
The rotisserie makes a dying squeal, yellow blood splattering against the wall and floor as it slides down the wall in an almost comical fashion. “Home run. Yay.”  
  
With that, Arc continues down the hall. People don’t often expect the joint Biomedical and Cybernetics lab to be as big as it is. Though most of the space belonged to Biomed and the poor folks in the Cybernetics lab are all holed up in a single room near the entrance. Their boots make gross squelching noises, tracking red footprints across that weird checkerboard pattern that Black Mesa decided was a nice thing to put literally fucking everywhere.  
  
“Dr…” Arc falters in their step, recognizing the voice. They immediately whip their head to the side, seeing one of the doors slightly ajar.  
  
“Howard?” Arc asks, insides freezing when they hear a wet, gasping cough. They all but throw the door open, bile rising in their throat. They shut the door behind them, not that it’ll help considering shit’s _teleporting_ into the facility. But at least nothing would sneak in. “Howard!”

A dead headcrab lays crumpled up in the corner. Howard’s struggling to breathe, blood bubbling from his nose, staining the white of his mustache. While the headcrab’s dead- it looks like it managed to mangle the elder’s chest. Nausea rises in Arc’s stomach as they swear they catch the glint of pink white- they focus on Howard’s face instead.  
  
“Hello- Arc.” Howard rasps, they all but collapse to their knees by his side. Arc immediately goes to reach for some supplies, they can fix this. Only, Howard merely smiles at them, placing a hand against their chest piece, smearing _red-red-red_ across the green surface. “None of that- my dear bean- save that for someone else who needs it. You’ll never- never know when something goes horribly wrong.”  
  
“But, you’re dying- you’re actively dying in front of me-” Arc sputters, feeling like the rug’s been pulled out from under their feet. “-I can, I can fix this you know? It’s not like it’ll-”  
  
“Arc, I’m not important, not in this situation. I haven’t- been since- since my creation!” He laughs a little like that, and Arc cringes as blood bubbles from the corner of his mouth, spilling down his chin. “No, my time here at Black Mesa, and this world- is over. I’ll be joining up with the others! You need to- the original-”  
  
“Howard. You’re not making any sense.” Arc feels like shaking him, but they can’t bring themselves to do the action. Creation? Others? Original? Come on, think, this is Black Mesa, they do weird shit here all the time. “What- are you even talking about. Are you- a _clone_ or something?”  
  
“You’ve always been so smart, ho ho!” Howard grins up at them with red-stained teeth, green eyes surprisingly bright. “Seek out the original, he’s a little crazy, but he has a good set of jumping legs! And a heart too, I guess.”

“...Right.” Arc agrees, a little weakly. “So, I find this original, and then what? What’s his name?”  
  
“Harold P. Coomer, he’s the only one with a fancy middle name. Us clones don’t get middle names, just firsts.” He makes a wet snorting sound.  
  
“That’s… not fair?” Arc trails off. What the fuck even is their life now?  
  
“It really isn’t, _bah_ , Black Mesa never let us Coomers have fun.” Howard sounds a little sad, and his breathing falters. “He should help you, at least- I hope he does. He’ll get my memories when I die.”  
  
Arc honestly doesn’t know what to say about that. So they say nothing.  
  
“Ahh, that light. It’s so close. Dr. Fall, I’m glad to have worked with you for the last few years. Goodbye, Arc.” Howard’s breathing continues to fail, getting worse and worse until it’s nothing more than a rasp. “I am going to die now.”  
  
“It was an honor. See you, you crazy man.” Arc laughs, blinking back confused tears. Howard makes a soft, content noise, closing his eyes, and true to his word, dies.

Arc takes a moment to breathe, a weird hiccupping noise escaping their mouth as confused tears drip down the curves of their cheeks. They honestly don’t know what to feel. Stars above, what a day. They sit there for a few more moments, sniffling a little and for a moment they wish that they could take their helmet off to wipe their face- but their hands are all bloody and that’d be gross and unsanitary.  
  
They pull the crowbar back out of their inventory and leave the room. 

* * *

The closer they get to the entrance of the Biomedical Lab, they hear a strange noise echoing through the halls. It honestly sounds like someone’s crying their heart out. Which is totally understandable. A zombie that’s being controlled by a Rotisserie makes a bizarre gurgling noise. They’re pretty slow though, so Arc takes their crowbar and bashes the Rotisserie and the host’s head in, staining the metal with a mix of mustard and red. 

They continue through the halls, realizing that the crying’s coming from the smallest gender-neutral bathroom. Which was literally a room with a toilet, a sink, and no stall. Apparently Black Mesa couldn’t be bothered to make anything bigger. Which wasn’t fair considering how obnoxiously big the ones for the women’s was. Maybe the men’s was big too? Fuck, Dr. Breen’s such an asshole. Hate the dude.  
  
The person inside is absolutely _wailing_ and it makes Arc’s heart clench in their chest.  
  
“H-hey,” Arc announces, knocking on the door. “Er, I know that this is a really dumb question, but- are you okay? Do you need any help?”

The crying from the other side of the door quiets down to an almost inaudible level, now. There’s shuffling, and the handle turns, the lock pops, and it’s Rory. It’s Rory, and they’re an absolute mess as they step to the side, silently inviting Arc into their personal Hell.

They smile, but it’s not really a smile – their lower lip is still trembling, eyes distant. “Come see the guy I shot in the head. And then, like, call the cops on me, or something.”

Arc takes a moment, looks at themselves all covered in gore and alien blood, and then at the dead security guard, who’s got an equally dead rotisserie on his head, the legs still digging into the body. “Well, honestly, I’ve got more blood on me, maybe you should call the cops on me instead.”

“Maybe, uh,” Rory’s breath hitches for a moment, caught on an aborted sob, “We could call the cops on each other. Like some kind of… fucked up meet-cute.”

“Sounds like fun- uh- a fun date? I’ve never dated before so I don’t know.” Arc replies, tapping the crowbar against their leg. “Nothing like, uh- beating rotisserie chicken zombies to death with a crowbar and shooting one with a gun to- fucking- uh- get in the mood.”

Rory’s smile becomes a kind of a smirk, the blood that stained their work clothes forgotten in the banter with another person. Rory’s an extrovert at heart, and talking to another person right now was like cocaine.

“Going to have to take me out to dinner first, Dr. Fall. And… like, tell me your first name, at least.”

“Um, my first name is Arc. They/Them.” Arc introduces, they honestly thought about offering their hand for the other to shake. But they’re all stained with Howards’ blood. And alien blood. “I’d shake your hand but uh, blood. I’m gonna wash my hands off first-”

Arc uses the kinetics of their boots to quickly reach the sink in a single bound. For a moment they’re suddenly overwhelmed by the amount coating their HEV suit’s gloves and aggressively washes it until the water runs clear.  
  
Then, they reach up, pulling at the little buttons on the sides of the HEV’s collar, the helmet coming off revealing their tearstained face. They place the helmet into their inventory and take a moment to look at themselves. “Hah, frick, I look like shit.”

Rory just watches, trying mostly to focus on the back of the HEV suit, knowing at least some of the work there is their own – not incredibly directly, of course, since they didn’t work on this project much, but still. The strides they’ve helped Black Mesa make, it’s all there. Noticeable, to someone who cared. Rory _did_ care about that.

It was the same tech that was in Rory’s own left arm. Their prosthetic. Same stuff.

They’re struggling to sound like a normal person as they watch Arc take off their helmet, trying so hard to not stare at the messy hair and the tears and, uh – any of it. “No, uh – you look great. Better than being dead. Hold on a moment – ” And, with that, Rory cuts themselves off to rush to the toilet in the corner, dry heaving into the bowl. Today has not been kind to their stomach.

Arc cringes a little bit, but honestly, they’d nearly thrown up a few times as well. They grab one of the towels from the dispenser wetting it and taking a moment to wipe up their face, a strangled clarinet sound escapes them as they blow their nose. Tossing the balled up sheet into the trash, they awkwardly approach Rory. “Hey, uh, this suit comes equipped with some anti-nausea tabs. Would you like one?”

The dry heaving stops after a few seconds, and they turn to give Arc a shaky thumbs-up, trying to avoid looking at the blood on the floor. Or the blood on their hands. Maybe Arc had the right idea, washing their hands. Maybe they should do that, too. Maybe. They don’t move, though, eyes focused somewhere over Arc’s shoulder.

Arc makes the sound akin to a backwards vacuum cleaner. Turning on their heel, they rush over to the towel dispenser, taking the crowbar and prying the damn thing open to access the rolls inside. Fuck Black Mesa’s property, it’s Arc’s now. With the goodies revealed, they tear off a generous amount, before going to the sink, wetting the sheets with water and a little bit of soap.  
  
Carefully, Arc gently places a hand on their shoulder patting Rory gently. Arc’s expression is soft as they go to gently take Rory’s blood-stained hand and prosthetic into their own hands. With ginger precision, they scrub the blood off Rory’s flesh hand, making sure to get as much of the drying flakes and the mess under their nails. Then they carefully work at the joints of their prosthetic, getting rid of any gunk. Folding up the used towel, Arc tosses it over their shoulder and then use the remainder to wipe at Rory’s face, cleaning up the tear tracks as best as they can. “There we are, look at you. You look like uh- a million bucks! We’re like... uh, the best. Hands down the best in this facility.”

Rory’s faraway look sharpens into focus at the contact – not quite looking into Arc’s eyes, but as close as they can manage it. They stay still enough for Arc to finish the job, before pushing them away, gently, and mumbling, “Hah, gay. What’re you gonna do now, kiss me? Like, uh – like some kind of soap opera?” 

“Well,” Arc grins, cheeks flushed a soft pink, and sends Rory a little wink even if they themselves feel a little bewildered by this whole thing. “I _am_ NB, so that’s pretty gay in itself. And you’re the one who brought it up, do _you_ wanna kiss me, huh? We can make this a soap opera if we believe hard enough.”

Oh, God. If anyone on this Earth can dish it out but can’t take it, it’s Rory. They’re red-faced in an instant, pushing past Arc, and out the door. Doesn’t turn around, not for a moment.

Arc stands there for a moment, panic suddenly surging in their chest. Oh, oh, they fucked up again, great. Wonderful. Breathing quickening a little. They look up at the ceiling for a moment, before following the other out the door. Well, they hesitate for a moment, before beelining to the towel dispenser and take out the rolls and stuffs them into their inventory. They may need those later. Their boots make it so easy for them to catch up, to the point that Arc nearly stumbles over themselves in an attempt to not overtake Rory.

“H-Hey- Rory, I’m sorry if I bounced your boundaries too hard, I didn’t mean to, I won’t um- I won’t do it again I’m really sorry-” Arc babbles. “I’m like, _really_ bad with people, so um- they say that I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Rory’s a good few feet ahead, wandering aimlessly down corridors that all look identical. In the stress of the facility falling apart, everything looked even more same-y. Everything was always the _same_ in Black Mesa. Hallways. Rooms. Faces. Personalities.

They’re half-listening to Arc’s babbling, not responding, just trying to find their way to the tram. Maybe it was still working, and maybe it worked well enough to take them back to the surface. So they could go home, go tell Joshua that his dad is dead.

Gordon’s dead. The thought stops them in their tracks. Gordon’s dead, he died in that test chamber. He’s _gone_. Rory breaks down again.

“Oooooh, coconut congas-” Arc makes a bizarre noise, sounding a bit like a kicked dog as they practically run into Rory, who had stopped mid-step. “H-hey, uh- do you want to talk about it- it’s okay if you don’t but like. I’ll be here for you.”

It’s not a loud breakdown, but it’s… it’s like their mind can’t take it, stack overflow. An error has occurred. Thoughts are now at zero, there’s nothing they can do, nothing they can think anymore. They struggle to take their phone out of their pocket, checking the last message they send to him –

He’d joked about dying. Rory had laughed. What a cruel joke for the universe to play on them both.

They… drop the phone, there on the floor. The screen doesn’t even crack, because, of fucking _course_ it doesn’t. The universe couldn’t even give them the satisfaction of a cool, poignant moment in their fucked up tragedy of a life.

Arc hesitates for only a moment, before bending over to pick up the phone. They pause for a moment, taking in the most recently sent messages. They call you in today too? Joshie… Arc is silent for a moment, taking in Rory’s appearance. The curly hair, their skin, the color of their eyes- “Uh. Do you know a Dr. Freeman?”

The question is so out of left field, it startles Rory out of their thought-void. “What, like - uh, my dad? Or. Gordon, he works here too. Worked.”

“Ah, siblings then. Sorry for looking at your texts, I’m only asking because Joshie got mentioned.” Arc grins a little awkwardly, holding the phone out to Rory. “Dr. Freeman works in Anomalous materials, right? I was supposed to babysit today, but I got called in at like, one am.”

Rory takes the phone from Arc’s hands, turning it off in the process. Enough looking at texts. They don’t get cell service down here anyway, not with the Wi-Fi out. “He… I was supposed to - of course, I’m not even the first one he asked.”

“I’m pretty sure that he normally asks me to take care of Joshie, because he doesn’t like bothering people?” Arc scuffs their feet against the floor, before an idea pops into their head. They have a moment in which a memory sparks in the back of their mind. There was a test involving- They tap their fingers against their suit, and they have no doubt that Ev’s listening in. They tapped out something, to anyone else it sounded like, you know, tapping because they _made_ this equivalent of morse.

“Oh, and you’re not _people._ I’ve known him my whole life. He bothers me every _day_. I was the designated babysitter until, like, 2 years ago, I - I can’t fucking _believe_ he would replace me like that.”

Arc frowns a little, cocking their head to the side as they stare down at their fellow fuming nonbinary. “I mean, that’s just siblings. I don’t ask mine to watch my moss ball when they feel stressed over school ‘n stuff-”

“Look - just,” Rory sighs, dragging their hands down their face. They weren’t going to fight here. Not right now. “Let’s get to the tram. Then we can - we can talk about whatever. Like, play therapy.”

_“_ _Dr. Fall, I have managed to connect to the system linking up the HEV AIs to one another._ _”_ Ev chimes in, loud enough through the external speakers on Arc’s suit now that the helmet was off to where Rory could hear her.  _“_ _There are currently two active units, you and one other._ _”_ _  
__  
_“That’s great, you know what section your sister belongs to?” Arc asks, waiting patiently. The sun above, they hope that they didn’t make a mistake if this _isn’t_ Dr. Freeman.  
  
_“_ _Of course, the other is HEV nicknamed ‘Hevy’, who is still currently assigned to one Dr. Gordon Freeman of Anomalous Materials. His vitals are stable, but he’s showing signs of stress."_ Ev responds, nigh immediately.

“Thanks, Ev, you’re awesome,” Arc says, clapping their hands a little and looking positively giddy. “Look alive, starshine! Your bro’s still kicking.”

Rory’s reaching out and grabbing Arc’s right wrist before they can stop themselves, their grip tighter than necessary, hand visibly trembling. “Can you - can you - can we talk to him?”

“We can try pinging him, the problems that uh, the Mark VI’s communication systems a bit shit. So he may not be able to reply to them.” Arc says, before straightening. “But we won’t know unless we try. If not, Ev can keep us posted with his vitals. What do you wanna say?”

* * *

“Tommy,” Gordon asks as he sits on the cold concrete, surrounded by the corpses of dead peeper puppies, a single headcrab corpse, and the rest of the science team. “Have you ever fought anything, have you ever killed anything?”

“No…” Tommy blinks at him in confusion. 

“You think you’d be good at it?” Gordon presses - because, if it’s one thing that the Freemans are good at, it’s their ability to keep fucking going. “Like- you know, maybe if we trained you?”  
  
Gordon winces a little as the thought registers. Luckily, his expression is hidden by the helmet. Tommy’s a person, he’s not a dog. Jesus Christ, Gordon, people aren’t common animals or pets. “Like, if I gave you a gun do you think you could shoot it at something?”  
  
Tommy fidgets a little, tapping his fingers against the concrete, golden eyes unsure. “Do you think I need to practice right now on that pigeon?” 

...Pigeon? What - Gordon glances to his left, and sure enough, looking dumb as hell with its head bobbing, there’s a fucking pigeon. He glances from face to face of the assembled team. “H-how did a pigeon get down here?”

“Do you want me to kill this?” Tommy asks, gold staring intently at the pigeon all of a sudden. Target acquired.

“No-” Gordon says, laughing a little breathlessly. He shakes his head back and forth. “-Oooooh, you don’t have t-”  
  
Tommy’s fist whips out, and, with a disturbing crunch, the pigeon is killed in one blow. Some feathers even stick to the thin gaps between his fingers. Gordon opens his mouth to speak-

 _“_ _JOHN MADDEN. JOHN MADDEN. JOHN MADDEN. AEIOU._ _”_ Gordon absolutely doesn’t make a shrill scream. He doesn’t. Luckily, no one can hear Gordon’s yelling as whoever the fuck is screeching so goddamn loud.  
  
He jumps to his feet, pistol slapping into his hand from the HEV’s inventory. And he spins on his heel, the gun pointing around randomly, as he tries to find the source. It’s almost as if the sound is coming from _every_ direction. 

“God fuck, what the hell-” Bubby shouts, surging onto his feet and looking around like a very confused dog. He also pulls out a pistol, the knuckles of his fingers white as he aims it down one of the halls.

 _“_ _THE FITNESS GRAM PACER TEST IS A MULTI-STAGE AEROBIC CAPACITY TEST THAT PROGRESSIVELY GETS MORE DIFFICULT AS IT CONTINUES._ _”_ Gordon cusses a blue streak, still trying to figure out where the voice is coming from.  
  
“Who the fuck is doing this-” Gordon whirls around at Benrey and points at him with his free hand. “-if this is your fault. I’m going to replace your helmet with a kid bike one. It’ll have stickers and glitter!” 

“Woaaaaaah, really?” Benrey grins in a lazy manner, blinking slowly. “sick, bro, cool as hell.” 

What a fucker.  
  
“HELLO, GOR- actually, I think the source of this woman’s voice is your suit!” Coomer chimes in, pointing at his suit. That weird section on his chest piece blinking green. 

“And the voice-” Tommy shifts a little, looking delightfully curious as he approaches Gordon. “-it sounds a lot like- like the voice of your HEV suit, Mr. Freeman. But she talks faster- like- like quicksilver in a thermostat!”

“Well, she’s never done this before-” Gordon protests. Because honestly, it hadn’t done anything like this. Hevy wasn’t very chatty, even on normal days. ”I-”  
  
“ _HI_ _ GORDON I LOVE YOU I'M SO SORRY THE LAST THING I SAID TO YOU WAS A JOKE ABOUT YOU DYING I’M WITH A VERY NICE DR. FALL NOW AND I SHOT A MAN IN THE HEAD? _ _”_

Benrey’s head snaps up in the corner of Gordon’s vision, and before he knows it, Benrey’s suddenly right in front of him, scowling a little as he pokes at Gordon’s suit. “who is this? tell me who is this- i need to know man- i gotta- it’s my job, secure the teas.”

“The teas?” Tommy echoes, blinking in confusion.

“Tea!” Coomer perks up like someone summoned their puppy with a Beggin Strip. “ **Tea** is an aromatic beverage commonly prepared by pouring hot or boiling water over cured leaves- ”  
  
“That’s enough of _that-”_ Bubby says, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. With surprising gentleness, he bonks Coomer on the back of the head with the butt of his pistol. The other man in question blinks slowly as if recalibrating, before laughing joyously.  
  
“Thank you, Professor Bubby!”

“-It’s _Dr_. Bubby.”

“Professor!”

“Doctor.”  
  
“Professor!”  
  
“Doctor.”  
  
“Professor!”  
  
 _“Doctor.”_

“Doctor!”  
  
“Professor, and that’s _final!”_ There’s a moment of silence, as Bubby registers what he said. Shoulders slumping in disbelief.

Coomer whoops and punches a fist in the air. “I knew that you would come around sometime!” 

_“_ _Aw, you think I’m very nice? That’s so sweet of you! This is Arc by the way. Sorry that I couldn’t help with Joshie today, though, maybe next time ask my pal and I – "_

Oh good god. Gordon stared blankly at a wall for a moment, his brain buffering at the sudden realization of who the speakers were.

_“_ _GAAAAY_ _”_

This was his goddamn _neighbor_ and his younger _sibling._ Holy shit.

_“_ _\- to watch the literal embodiment of a shining sunflower? Bruh, you interrupted me! It’s pretty gay though. Ev’s transcribing for us Dr. Freeman’s gonna get confused –_ _“_

He _is_ pretty confused, but it’s not over the speakers.

_“_ _NO HE WON’T HE’S AN MIT GRAD?_ _Bold of you to assume that this himbo of a man won’t get confused._ _”_

Gordon puts his face into his hands. Well, tries to, but his helmet just clonks against his gloves.

_“_ _YOU’RE JUST GOING TO CALL GORDON A HIMBO RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE THAT? RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SALAD?”_

_“Fricken idiot himbo.”_

_“PLEASE SAY FUCK. PLEASE.”_

_“Huh, wah, no? Like, Gordon, we love you but you a himbooooo -_ _”_

Is he in hell? Gordon’s pretty sure that he’s in hell. Though, admittedly, he didn’t expect that Rory and Arc would ever actually meet up. Both of them have sibling energy, Gordon was not expecting this to happen in a million years. It’s almost… maybe it was destined to be? Two people who occupy what is basically the same niche support character finally meeting up.

_“_ _Um! Anyway, according to Ev, we’re a bit behind you, both time and location wise. So, uh, you shouldn’t wait for us and keep going. I’m sure our paths will converge at some point, because Black Mesa’s architects were probably on crack and meth at the same time. Funky little bastards._ _”_

“yo, who are these people. who the fuck are these people?” Benrey asks, still poking at Gordon’s HEV until the curly-haired man gets tired of it and slaps the guard’s hand away.

“I’m not telling you. Maybe if you weren’t so annoying, I’d actually let you know who these people are,” Gordon says, voice as dry as the Sahara. Gordon turns his full attention onto the loud conversation at hand, missing the sudden darkening of shadows around Benrey’s eyes.

In truth, Gordon had been worrying his head off. Internally though. Rory was the babiest sibling in the Freeman family. They weren’t allowed to die yet. Arc was also, like... 20, so they were the ultimate baby in Gordon’s mind, especially considering Black Mesa and its bullshit. 

He wouldn’t ever really admit it, at least not out loud, not around them, but he’d been so fucking scared. So, so scared – Biomed and Cybernetics were right there, so close to Anomalous Materials, and he… he couldn’t get there, couldn’t check. The hallways collapsed in on themselves, and – he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel guilty for not trying hard enough, but there’s nothing he really could have done.

Especially if his team insisted on shooting every scientist they came across, no questions asked.

_“_ _Also, maybe leave some soda? Snacks too, now that I think about it._ _”_

_“_ _JUST DRINK WATER WHAT THE FUCK?_ _”_

_“_ _We’re getting thirsty and it’s hard to stock up when everything’s gone._ _”_

_“_ _LITERALLY TAP WATER IS FINE ACTUALLY._ _”_

_“_ _Wait, did you drink from the bathroom faucet?_ _”_

_“_ _NORMAL PEOPLE DO THAT? GORDON DOES THAT?_ _”_

_“_ _You’re dirty little faucet drinkers, aren’t you?_ _”_

_“_ _OKAY FASCIST?_ _”_

_“_ _That's fauscist, your pronunciation’s off. Anyway, that’s disgusting, and hey, blACK MESA’S WATER HAS SOMETHING IN IT I SWEAR! IT MAKES ME SING BLUE –_ _“_

_“_ _FILTER IT OUT THEN GOD DAMN JUST LIKE GET SOME SAND AND MAKE A FILTER?_ _”_

_“_ _We are in a building, and sand’s not gonna cut it you need other aggregates like charcoal and gravel._ _”_

_“_ _OK? SO? JUST TRY HARDER?_ _”_

_“_ _I’ll kiss you, I swear, I'll do it. Smooch-a you right on the nose!_ _”_

_“_ _OH YEAH? GOING TO FLIRT WITH ME IN FRONT OF GORDON? RIGHT IN FRONT OF GORDON?_ _”_

_“_ _Yeah, why not? I got plenty of smooches to go around, ‘s gonna be like Chulip up in this facility._ _”_

_“_ _AW, AM I YOUR UMD? THE UMD TO YOUR PSP? CAN WE GET SOME HEARTS IN THE CHAT FOR LOOOOOOOOVE?_ _”_

_“_ _It’s real heart hours._ _”_

Even if they had surprised him at first, the fact that Gordon can hear them talk. Hear them banter and get along, that they’re both alive and together. It makes him so happy that he could honestly cry from relief. But he doesn’t and settles for grinning instead.

_“_ _Anyway, back to the filters. You can’t. They consider outside dirt contraband, I tried to take a rock once and they pat me down at the tramway..._ _”_

_“_ _HIDE THE DIRT IN YOUR SHOES ITS WHAT I DO._ _”_

_“_ _They made me take off my shoes. I swear the guards here are freaks._ _”_

_“_ _HAHA MAYBE GET BETTER AT RANDOM CHECKS? MAYBE? JUST GET BETTER AT IT._ _”_

_“_ _I’ll cry, I’ll do it._ _”_

_“_ _GOOD! DON’T, ACTUALLY._ _”_

_“_ _It’s t-toooo late... it’s already- in motion- huh- huuuuuuuu -_ _“_

_“_ _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO -_ _”_

Well. Rory’s still alive. Arc’s still alive. Gordon sighs a little and smiles.


End file.
